He knew something was wrong with him long before anyone else said it out loud. It showed in the mirror first.
His cheeks had hollowed slightly, shadows lingering beneath his eyes no matter how much he slept. His clothes hung looser now, sleeves slipping farther down his wrists, collars sitting wrong against his collarbones.
Customers at the cafe tilted their heads when they looked at him, brows knitting with concern they tried and failed to hide.
“You’ve lost weight,” one of the regulars said gently one morning, passing him exact change like it was something fragile.
Ari smiled automatically. “Must be the stress.”
It was easier than explaining that food tasted like nothing half the time. That his appetite came and went without warning. That his chest felt perpetually tight, as if som
